I know that this is what a friend once spoke about. The age of reason and all its legs, walking in such a devastating manner.
This the realization that things simply aren't what I perceived them as. I once thought I was poet when in reality I was just a young girl channeling grief. Tears simply did not make it and when they did, they were brief and salty like a luckless romance. I'm not special and I am sorry I used to tell you I was. I'm nothing out of the ordinary and feeling endlessly sad is not a talent. Its tons of women who feel the same brutal discomfort I do. So we compliment each other out of pity. Call each other queens even when we feel nothing like it. Its no exaggeration,
if I could, I would trade the poems for courage in a heartbeat.
Here is where childhood comes to die and I admit- I no longer dream as freely as I used to. This is me letting you in and letting you go at the same time. I don't want to be a star, not in this life, not in another one. I no longer crave for the world to see me, I no longer care to read my name in bold. Everyday, I am more fog around a tall building than anything else. This is me turning off the lights and closing the door of a room I once got too lost in. Me saying that all I have left is this moment and both the past and the future, don't amuse me anymore.
